A Rainbow of Roses
by IronChainDragon
Summary: Ib never wanted to go back. She'd barely escaped the last time. And that was before realizing things weren't entirely the same. Also, she's now responsible for the lives of several people who she doesn't get along with, and her own self-portrait is running around trying to kill her. Wonderful.
1. Meeting the Rainbow

Daichi: I've seen things were Ib returns to the Gallery, and I figured I'd put my own spin on it. Forgotten Portrait ending, she has her memories and associated traumas, and she's there with far too many people to keep track of and they don't really like her, plus… well… something else. What could go wrong?

BlackGatomon: Besides everything?

Verity: We don't own anything but… a handful of characters. For a certain definition of handful… we only stopped making them because we ran out of colors. When we say it's a rainbow, we mean it, and a bit more.

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When she was nine, Ib obtained a lighter. Her parents didn't know this, for a variety of reasons, foremost of which being that she was afraid they'd get rid of it. The lighter was important to her, too important to risk losing.

She still remembered the moment when she discovered it in her pocket, and the memories that came rushing back to her at that moment. She remembered using those memories, and the emotions that came with them, to paint a self-portrait. Herself, holding the lighter and a red rose.

She titled it 'Regrets' and tucked it away where nobody would ever see it.

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Lavender was a quiet girl with dark hair and eyes hidden behind glasses, and a predisposition for the color purple. Ever since she was eight, she had loved art and painting immensely, and her parents did their best to nurture her budding talent.

She couldn't remember having a single friend, although when she was eleven, flashes of two girls about her age ran through her mind. Using those flashes she painted two pictures that she called the Faded Girls, pouring as much of her inspiration as she could onto the canvasses.

She hung them up on her wall, next to a landscape she called 'Gateway', and forgot about them.

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With brown scruffy hair and gray eyes, very few would ever have thought Miguel would have an interest in art. His parents were part of the reason for that. They viewed the art world as a total waste of time, and any assignments their son would bring home from art class, they would throw away.

Well, there was one that they hadn't. A painting he had created in his spare time when he was thirteen, 'Puppet Self'. As the title suggests, it was a doll that looked like himself connected to several thin strings. It was the only piece he had made because he wanted to, rather than having it assigned, and he wanted to keep it safe.

He hid it under his bed, wrapped up in a way that would preserve it, even if nobody else would ever see it.

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The fair haired and blue eyed David listened to his parents in all that mattered. They were a superstitious sort, and although he didn't buy into a lot of what they did, he listened to them, and perhaps he allowed their opinions to color his own somewhat.

They insisted that those with red eyes were demonic, so he bullied the red-eyed girl in his class. Nobody ever called him out on it, instead telling her to ignore him, and maybe he'd go away. He wasn't normally mean-spirited, but a target like that was impossible to resist.

Sure, he felt bad about it, sometimes, but she left little impression on him, and it never really sunk in that what he was doing was wrong, until…

Well, until he signed up for a certain art class in high school, and something happened that would change that forever.

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Hannah and her twin brother Christopher both enjoyed painting and similar, but despite that, they couldn't be that much more different. They both had black hair, but her eyes were blue while his were brown. She was a bully, while he tried to talk her down. She was excelling in her classes, while he was just barely scraping by.

Not that they weren't close. Christopher loved his bratty little sister despite her poor behavior, and Hannah, despite the fuss she put up in public, positively adored her older brother. Teachers also knew that, if the two of them, for any reason, were put in the same class, it would not end well.

Not that this stopped such a thing from happening, by any means. The art class that they chose to take was one of them. All things considered, it could not have ended better, bullying habits involving their classmates notwithstanding.

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The redheaded Patricia, better known as Trixie, was well known in school for being energetic. She was neutral to her classmates, at worse, ignoring the quiet ones in favor of those who preferred jumping rope or playing soccer.

Not that she didn't understand culture or anything. When her parents suggested she take an art class, she was all for it. They said it would be good for her to have a basic appreciation, and she didn't mind it.

It was kind of fun, actually, once she got past the amount of time she'd spend washing paint off of her hands. Not something she'd choose to do for a living, but something to do nonetheless.

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Fair haired and green eyed, Jade took great pride in her appearance. Since she was young, she had enjoyed dressing herself up for a variety of different roles, and her true passion was for the stage. As her parents didn't approve of this, she simply decided to take an art class so she could at least do something creative.

She'd gone through a rough patch when she was younger, lashing out at others, and she still didn't know how to properly apologize to her former victims. Just her luck that she would end up in class with one of them.

Still, she decided that she'd make it up to her one day. She didn't know how, but she would.

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Daniel Adams loved his job. He enjoyed teaching others, and he liked the students that he met. This new group, however… he could see they needed work, and not just in the grades department. Half of them wouldn't even talk to each other, and he normally couldn't get them to shut up.

Perhaps a class trip would help to break the ice a bit. At the very least, it would be fun, right?

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The day of her class trip, Ib opened her drawer, and pulled out the lighter she'd hidden there for six years. She knew it was against school policy, but she still slipped it into her bag regardless. "Just in case," she whispered. She hadn't been back since… well… she couldn't avoid it forever, right? "See you soon, Garry."

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Tsukaimon: What could go wrong, indeed?

Daichi: If you can somehow guess what color rose everyone will have, bonus points. Note: Ib, Lavender, and Jade don't count.


	2. Return to the Gallery

Daichi: So, last time, we met the class… they have issues. But it wouldn't be fun if they didn't, right?

Verity: We only own… well, most of the class, but still…

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"Hey, Ib, are you okay?" Lavender asked. Ib sighed. The first day of class, she and Lavender had decided to sit together, and while she hadn't had a real friend since she was nine, and it had been a… rather short-lived friendship, it was sometimes annoying to have someone pay enough attention to her to see her problems.

"I'm fine. It's just… you know, the trip." That was close enough to the truth, right? Just in case, she followed up with another not-quite-a-lie, "Also, if David or Hannah decide to pull something…"

"Mr. Adams will stop them before it goes too far," Lavender reassured her. "And I haven't gone on a class trip since elementary school. I've never even been to an art gallery before."

"I did, once," Ib looked down at her desk. "I had just turned nine, and the Guertena exhibit had just opened. You know, the really popular one. I don't remember it all that well." Not exactly a lie, she didn't remember the normal gallery all that well.

"Is everyone ready to go?" Mr. Adams asked his students. There was a wave of nods. "Good. Let's go."

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Daniel checked to make sure all of his students were there, and that they hadn't decided to run off halfway across town. Jade and Miguel were at the front, Trixie stood at the back, the twins were somewhere to the side, and David, Lavender, and Ib were in the middle, Lavender firmly between Ib and David.

"Now, has anyone been to this particular art gallery before?" He didn't actually expect any of the kids to raise their hands. "Ib, can you tell us about anything that stood out to you last time you were here?"

"I…" She looked down for a moment, before straightening up. "I came here when I'd turned nine, a birthday treat, I suppose. I couldn't read all that well, so I don't know all the names, but there's two I remember really well. 'Abyss of the Deep' and 'Forgotten Portrait'."

"I see. Well, then, this is going to be a learning experience for all of you, isn't it? I'm going to give you an assignment after this trip, so pay attention." He leveled his gaze on Trixie, who had stated before that she preferred making art to viewing it.

The trip had gotten off to a decent start. Unfortunately, it couldn't stay that way. It started with 'Forgotten Portrait'. As the class stood in front of it, Ib didn't look at it.

"Wow, I thought you remembered this painting," Hannah commented. "Wait, are you crying?"

"I never took you for a crybaby, Ib," David remarked. Daniel made a mental note to contact their parents at the earliest opportunity and ask that they give their children a good talking-to.

"Leave her alone," Christopher told his sister.

"Chris, she's crying over a painting. That is a new low." He really needed to contact their parents.

"Why don't we move on?" He suggested. The incident faded from everyone's minds until they reached 'Fabricated World'.

"I remember this from last time," Ib breathed out, quietly.

"Really?" Lavender asked. "I don't see anything about it that really stands out to me." And then the lights went out.

"Where'd everyone go?" Miguel asked. He was right, there wasn't a single person besides them in the entire gallery anymore. But that wasn't what concerned their teacher the most.

His biggest concern was that Ib, upon the lights going out, had stepped back, eyes wide in fear.

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No. This couldn't be happening again. She couldn't… she didn't want to go back. "Ib. Ib." Lavender was shaking her, and she opened her mouth, but closed it again, forcing back a sob.

"I… We need to get out of here. Please. I can't… I can't go through with this again."

"Again?" Mr. Adams asked. "Ib, is there something we need to know about?" There wasn't a way out, was there? Not that wasn't through… the Gallery. Her heart was pounding, and she forced herself to breathe evenly.

"We aren't in… we aren't in the normal world anymore. We're transitioning to the Gallery, a world of art, where paintings and statues come to life." As soon as she finished, David scoffed.

"Nice story, Ib. But we know you're just making this up for attention."

"But where is everybody?" Jade asked. "If we aren't in our own reality, that would explain why everyone disappeared."

"But it doesn't explain how she would know any of it," Hannah shot back.

"I've been there before," She admitted. "I almost died. I would have, if not for-" She cut herself off. No. She would not dwell on that. Not right now. She had to put on a brave face, just for now. She'd survived once, she could do it again.

Could the others? She didn't know. But she remembered the answers to some of the puzzles, and she actually knew what she was doing. She could at least keep them from dying like that.

"Look, I know we don't all get along. And I know I'm a mess right now. What happened last time… left me kind of traumatized and there is no way a therapist would ever believe me. I'm not going to lie to you. We could all very easily die with what I have in mind. But I know what I'm doing, more than even Mr. Adams. No offense, just saying it as it is," She quickly added. "The thing is, you need to listen to me. If you follow my first instruction, there is a decent chance of survival, because I know where we'll be going. If you don't listen to me, well… let's hope it doesn't get as bad as I fear."

"You were nine when you were last here. If this other world exists, why haven't adults found it yet?" Trixie asked.

"Even if they did find it, do you think anyone would believe them?" She replied. "The first thing we need to do is cross over entirely. I know it's confusing, but the door won't open for us anymore. And I, for one, don't want to starve here." Chris and Hannah exchanged glances and nodded. "So, well… first thing we need to do is jump into the Abyss of the Deep. No, I'm not crazy… well, maybe a little, but I definitely remember that we need to jump into the Abyss of the Deep. Once we get through, you are not to wander off, but to stay by the start. I will explain further once we're all there."

Without checking to see if anyone was following her, she jumped into the waters. She didn't want this. But she had to stay strong. She wouldn't let anyone die this time. Not if she could help it.

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She had to admit that, full of roses of different colors, the vase was rather beautiful. Were it not for the bittersweet reminder, she would have smiled at the spot of red in the center. Hers. The others had notes with names attached to them. She didn't need it.

"Is everyone here?" She asked. She received a round of affirmations. "Good. Wandering off here is the last thing you want to do." Walking over to the vase, she picked her rose out of it. "Get the rose with your name marked on it. Do not touch any other rose. Do not remove any petals from the roses. Never entrust your rose to another. To do so is to trust them with your own life."

Mr. Adams sighed. "Ib, this is one of these things we needed to know before hand." Still, he took his brown rose. As everyone took their roses, she noted the colors. Light purple for Lavender. Sunset orange for Trixie. Emerald green for Jade. Pink for Miguel. Black for Hannah and white for Chris. And David's rose was yellow.

She decided that the colors didn't matter so long as none of them matched each other. She'd just have to push aside her issues with the color yellow for the moment. She took a look at her rose. Nine petals.

"What's the point of this?" Chris asked. "I mean, I get that they're pretty flowers, but…" Mr. Adams' eyes widened in realization.

"Embodiment of Spirit…" So that was what it was called. She figured it had been something like that.

"That's exactly right. As the rose wilts, so will you wither away. Take note of the number of petals. There are ways to replenish a damaged rose, but hopefully we won't need them. And I've said this before, but never, ever, let anyone else touch your rose, let alone hold it. Especially not the residents of this Gallery. They… some of them… want to leave, but can only do that by swapping places with a human. I read it in a book here. Of course, there's only a small window of time after the person dies when they can do so, so we won't have to worry about that for a bit." She forced herself to smile. "Any more questions?"

"Can we put them in our bags?" Miguel asked. She nodded.

"Just make sure you don't damage them. And be ready to present them at a moment's notice. Several puzzles make you bet petals to answer them. No, I don't know why it's that way, it just is. I'll be carrying mine so I can keep track of how many petals I have." She noted that several of them did the same. Even her teacher was mostly just listening to her.

She discovered she liked being the only one that knew what she was doing. Perhaps, if she focused on that feeling, she could avoid all the other ones.

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Daichi: Everyone else is listening to Ib mainly because she knows what she's doing- kinda- and they don't realize just how much of a mess she is.


	3. Regrets

Daichi: Welcome back to the Gallery, the place that takes your favorite masterpieces and turns them into horrors. Well, mostly.

Verity: We only own most of the class and certain pieces.

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The Gallery was… unusually quiet. Ib remembered when she'd first crossed over, the feeling of being watched… whether it was because she'd decided to go directly through, or something else, very little had happened in the in-between. She had been fine with that.

Sure, showing the others the life behind the paintings early on would have helped, but… if they had insisted they stop someplace on the way… would the artworks have recognized her, after all this time? Would Garry recognize her? And… even if he did… what could she say to him? Sorry I let you die and stole your lighter? Yeah… no.

It wasn't the quiet in the in-between that bothered her. Not one bit. It was the quiet in the true Gallery, the lack of even the feeling of being watched, that scared her the most.

"Everyone, keep close," She ordered. "Remember to keep your rose protected at all times. If anyone disappears, alert me immediately. Mr. Adams, if I disappear, you're the adult, so you're in charge. Do not touch anything unless I say so. And do not- and I really mean it- do not provoke any of the artworks. Just because we're not in range to be replaced doesn't mean they won't still kill us."

She approached the blue door. "It's unlocked… has nobody been through here since me, or…"

"There's a note, right here," Chris handed her the really old piece of paper.

 _ **To those that might be concerned,**_

 _ **Welcome to the Gallery. We used to call it the World of Guertena, but we've gotten several new arrivals not accredited to that artist, so… Anyway. Whether or not you already know the rules (Hopefully not, since who in their right mind would come back?) they are spelled out for you here.**_

 _ **1\. Your rose is your life. Treat it as such.**_

 _ **If your rose wilts, you must kill another visitor to take their place if you want out. Sorry, that's how it is.**_

Several bits were smudged, and Ib tried to make it out the best she could. There seemed to be an argument developing swiftly in the margins over who got to hold the pen.

"The rest of it is badly smudged until about the end. I can't really make it out, but the last bit…"

 _ **There's probably entrances and exits we don't know of, but the closest one to you at the moment is 'Fabricated World'. This door has been unlocked for you. The rest you'll have to navigate on your own. Good luck.**_

"And that's all it says. Now, in the next room, follow me closely. Trixie, this means you. This isn't a place for exploration."

As they walked through the door, there was movement, and a small ant huddled in the corner. "Please don't hurt me!" It begged. "I haven't helped anybody in six years, not since I lost my painting!"

"Wow. I've never seen a crazy insect before," Hannah drily commented. Chris shoved her. "What? It's babbling and we haven't even tried talking to it yet."

"We really are in another world," Miguel breathed in. "I mean, I knew it before, but now…"

"We won't hurt you," Lavender promised. "We're just lost here, is all."

"That's one way to put it," David muttered.

"But… if you're visitors… what is she doing back here? And who are you?" He directed this to Miguel. "You look just like Puppet!"

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Miguel was sure he was staring in shock at the tiny creature. Puppet. "Puppet Self?" He asked. "Is that the Puppet you meant?"

"Are there any others?" It responded. "Wait. Don't answer that. There probably are. It's been weeks since I've seen anyone, anyway."

Ib sighed, and if he didn't know how calm and forgiving the girl normally was, he'd say she was trying to reign in her temper. "I'm really sorry about your painting. I was nine and didn't have much choice in the matter."

"Yeah, I know you're sorry," it mumbled. "That's why I'm so scared! You've doomed most of us here!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ib replied. "But- Trixie, I told you to stay by me!" She pulled the redhead back, and Miguel could see shadowy hands reaching out for the girls. "Did you lose any petals?"

"Just one. It really hurts, though."

"You just lost a ninth of your life force. I'd be surprised if it didn't hurt. Now, what did you say was my fault again?" She turned back to the ant, her face devoid of any emotion. Miguel knew that look. That was the look he had whenever he didn't want anyone to know what he was feeling.

He wondered what she was thinking, that could have her so on edge.

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Ib knew several things that the ant could blame her for. Breaking its painting was just one of those things, especially if it spoke to the other artworks. She was ready for anything that it might tell her. At least, she told herself that.

"It… it doesn't matter. The key to the next door is behind the butterfly painting." She smiled and nodded as Jade grabbed the key.

"Can we go now?" Hannah asked. She nodded.

"You should be safe so long as you stick to the middle of the hall. If, at any point, your rose loses petals and you see a vase, alert the rest of us. If possible, let me do whatever puzzles I can. Someone seems to be trying to make things easier for us, although with the ant's reaction to us, that may not be enough." She took a shaky breath. She had to keep telling herself she could do this, but…

"You know what, Ib?" Trixie asked. "Being able to handle this place when you were nine… you're actually pretty cool." She chose to take the compliment.

"Single file, everyone," Mr. Adams spoke up, clearly trying to maintain some illusion of control over the class. She took the lead, ignoring the hands that came out of the wall at her. They weren't scary to her at all. But there was still the feeling of being watched, or rather, the absence of such a feeling.

She hoped it was simply because of Mary's death. Of course, she also knew that it could never be that simple.

She opened the door, and saw a wall covered in scorch marks. Well. That was troubling.

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The other door to the room opened, and a small girl walked out, and through the rows of bugs, carrying a painting torn apart in the center.

"Oh, Ant!" She called out in a fake singsong voice. "I believe I have something of yours!"

The ant turned to face her. Red eyes shone at it, pupiless. When asked, the painting girl had blamed the limitations of watercolor. Well, that was back when she was sane. Now, she'd just laugh.

"Regrets, I-"

"Just let Ib and Lavender past? Just allowed nine perfectly good roses to move on, when they could have wandered over to me and let me grab them? You know what I do to my enemies, Ant."

"You haven't done it to all who've ever gone against you," it challenged, already knowing it was futile, as Regrets pulled out her lighter. "You let him live."

She didn't dignify it with a response, instead lighting the painting, and the ant, aflame.

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Verity: I get that you don't let me go through all of your notes, but… this is a new one. How crazy is she, exactly?

Daichi: Crazy enough to burn most anyone who gets in her way, with… notable exceptions. We'll be meeting Puppet and the Faded Girls later. They're a bit… less totally insane. They also aren't necessarily exceptions. ...Make that one notable exception.


	4. Special 1: In Better Times

Daichi: This chapter isn't part of the main story so much as another prologue. Basically, it's what's been going on in the Gallery these past six years. All I can say is, it's basically meant to rip your heart out.

Verity: We only own a select few pieces that appear here.

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Before Regrets was insane and feared throughout the Gallery, she was the Forgotten Portrait's little sister. It wasn't something that was really agreed upon, it just happened. She herself only realized it when she said it out loud.

"I'm Regrets, or Ib, if you'd rather call me that," She had introduced herself to someone new, a painting they had never met before, "And this is my big brother, Garry." That had been her moment of realization. But it fit, didn't it? It felt perfect to her.

Like her creator had always wanted. She'd been created in a rush of emotion from Ib, and knew that she'd always desired siblings. Of course, the one created from her guilt and grief would receive all of that, and Regrets was fine with this. At the time, she had been a pupiless copy of a nine-year-old Ib in appearance and personality.

Sure, she couldn't leave the Gallery, but she was happy enough. She had Garry to tell her what the outside world was like, even if they couldn't visit it themselves, and as long as they had each other for company, and the other artworks, everything was going to be fine.

She managed to keep herself convinced of this for quite a while.

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Regrets had many secrets, although they never stayed secret for long. Her ardent wish to one day visit the reality on the other side of Fabricated World, that Garry had grown up in, was the only one that would never be discovered, at least as long as her wish was simply for a visit. She understood that it was just a dream that would never come true, and put it out of mind whenever it came up.

Her first secret had come out within a month. Until then, the lighter in her pocket had remained unused, untouched, even. She didn't need it for anything. It was just there, and she had basically forgotten it existed as anything but a lump in her pocket. It was honestly less a secret, and more something she'd never bothered to mention.

Well, until she and Garry had somehow managed to lock themselves in a pitch black room that certainly hadn't been there yesterday. She wasn't entirely sure how that had happened, but suspected the Lady in Red. She'd not been happy about Mary's death, and knew who had brought the lighter to the Gallery in the first place. It didn't matter to her who had used it, she knew it was one of them.

"There has to be a key here somewhere," Garry muttered, only to yelp a few seconds later after he knocked over what sounded like a rather large pile. Perhaps stumbling around blindly wasn't a very good idea after all.

Reaching into her pocket, Regrets' fingers closed around metal. Oh. Perhaps it was a bit odd for a portrait to forget something that was in her painting, but she didn't look at it often. She was far too busy exploring the strange world she had found herself a part of. And having the mindset of a nine-year-old girl really didn't help with that.

Well, that and some part of her didn't want to acknowledge having the lighter. A lighter was a dangerous tool, especially in an art gallery, when many of the inhabitants were paintings, even if a number of them preferred to be outside their frames. Still, she didn't have much choice at the moment.

Soon, a warm orange glow illuminated a small circle around her. It didn't light up much, but it was a start.

"Ib? Where did you get that?"

"I was painted with it, but forgot about it until now. I'm pretty sure the real Ib still has the original, unless her parents found out about it. We can find the key now!"

Later, she placed the lighter back into her frame, deciding that keeping it on hand wasn't necessary if she was just going to forget she had it at the time.

It remained there for several years.

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The first new friends Regrets made since her appearance in the Gallery was much later. She knew that the world she lived in was an ever changing place, and would drag Garry out to explore it as much as possible. In recent times, it was changing more and more often.

She didn't know the reason, she just felt the need to humor her insatiable curiosity. So, as new doors appeared, she was always the first to open them. Sometimes, if she was really impatient, Garry wouldn't even know she had gone until she was back.

This was one such occasion. The new area was rather nice, all the paintings, and there were a few, were on easels instead of walls, and it was open to the sky. A nice courtyard, with a few paintings even hanging on trees. Sure, the sky had no sun or clouds or anything, but Regrets realized that this was the closest to being outdoors she was likely to ever get.

"The Gateway! Where's the Gateway!?" She saw a girl, about the same age as her creator would be, dressed in blue, and carrying a rose of the same color. "Hurry up!"

"I'm coming!" A girl wearing yellow, and carrying a yellow rose. "I don't think we're in any danger anymore, but I don't see a way back. Maybe Lav will come find us soon." The girl in yellow turned to see Regrets standing there. "Oh! Did you fall through, as well?"

She shook her head. "I'm one of the pieces here. My name's Regrets. Or Ib, if you prefer. That's the name of the person I was based on, but I'd rather have my own identity." That had been a recent decision, but she figured that as Ib was growing up, and she was not, there wasn't much reason to keep the name.

"Ib, huh? I think there's a girl at our school with that name…" the girl in blue muttered to herself. The one in yellow just grinned.

"It is great to meet you, Ib! I'm Gretchen, and this is Andrea, although you can just call her Andy. She doesn't mind much." Andy shoved Gretchen playfully.

"What did I tell you? Um… Ib… do you know of a way out of this place?" Her question was quiet, just like the rest of her demeanor. It would take months for her to grow out of it. "We kind of fell through our friend Lavender's painting, and we can't find it anywhere."

She nodded. "Yeah, I know of one. I can't go through it, but… the Fabricated World. I know the way. You can even meet my big brother, while we're at it. Just follow me!"

She'd forgotten about the puzzles and the hands. They'd never had cause to bother her, but the two humans she was leading through there…

Half an hour later saw two decimated roses, and two new paintings. The Gallery named them the Faded Girls.

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"We should do something to help," Andy realized one day.

"What do you mean?" Garry asked.

"People like us. Visitors. If we could help them… well, three of us is enough, right?"

"That sounds like a great idea!" Gretchen chimed in. "Even if we can't wait at the entrances for people to wander in, if we could even leave something to tell them how it works… a bit less vague than we were told upon arrival… We could do something, even if we never meet any of them personally!" In her exuberance, she knocked over one of several stacks of books they had gathered. "...Regrets is not going to be happy with this, that was her reading list."

Andy checked her watch. "She said she'll be back in… two hours… so we should probably hurry and fix this."

The idea had merit, however, and the four of them ended up seeking entrances and exits so they could leave detailed information. More than one note was ruined because they all wanted to hold the pen at times, but it felt like they were actually doing good.

To Regrets, it had been a nice feeling. But there was something hollow about it, and she didn't realize until it was too late.

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Regrets and Puppet weren't as close as they could have been and for a while, any conversation between just the two self-portraits was awkward, even discounting the line of dolls that seemed to follow him everywhere. But they were the only two paintings close in age that actually came from the Gallery, at least that they knew of, and eventually, they found common ground in that.

Enough that one day, when the two of them were alone, Puppet had confided in her. "I- you know, sometimes I wish that I could see that other world. Just once."

"We have the stories," She reminded him of that little piece of reality she had clung to for years, memorizing all that Garry, and later Gretchen and Andy, told her about that world. "And we have whatever we got from creation. What else do we need? We'd have to kill somebody to escape, you know, and not that many people wander in." But it had planted an idea in her head. A dangerous one.

"It's not the same, though, is it? They act like it isn't anything special, but they were born there. I've never seen it. But it wouldn't be worth it, would it?"

"It wouldn't," She agreed. Until she didn't.

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Her ability to force roses to grow was actually a fairly recent discovery, one she kept from the others for as long as possible. It was discovered by the others the month after her conversation with Puppet.

She had been tending to her garden of sorts in the area she had met Gretchen and Andy. The flowers never lasted for more than a week, but they were beautiful while they did.

She wanted a real one of her own. But she could never tell that to anyone. Except for her and Puppet, they'd all had roses before, but lost them for various reasons. She wouldn't bring up the loss. Not when she didn't have to.

"These are really pretty, Ib," Garry commented. He was the only person still allowed to call her that, the rest having long since started referring to her by her title.

"Thanks," She gave a smile, one of her last true ones, if you were to ask later. Nobody ever did. "They don't last too long, though. I can't care for them properly."

"Have you considered not putting them at full bloom?" Andy suggested. "They might live longer that way."

A flower Regrets didn't bloom all the way could last indefinitely. But something about the lovely blossoms called to her. She wanted a real rose.

She wanted a rose that could get her out of there.

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Regrets announced her intentions much later. "I don't want to be confined to this Gallery forever. I want to see the real world," she told Andy and Gretchen one day.

"You know why that isn't happening," Andy sighed.

"Yeah, though if I had a shot at it… who knows?" Gretchen added. "You just might be onto something, Regrets."

"Gretchen, we can't-"

"Andy, we have missed out on three, nearly four years in reality. I want to go home." Andy listened to Gretchen, before slowly nodding.

"I do miss my family, but… there's only one rose I'd be willing to take, if I had to. I want Lavender's rose. She's the reason I'm here, after all."

Good. She had two victims specified by name now. There was no way she'd let Ib get away from this place a second time, after all. All she needed to do was figure out how to pull them in, along with two to three others, depending on if Puppet still wanted to come along.

She hadn't expected Garry to oppose the idea.

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She retrieved the lighter from her frame.

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She had taken the lighter with her to the room where Garry kept his portrait, anger making her react. He was an obstacle, he was in her way, and he had to be removed. She kept telling herself that the whole way there.

Upon her arrival, she stared at the painting, holding the lighter shakily, without the drive she would later possess. She prepared herself to see her brother go up in flames.

She couldn't do it. Whatever small amount of the very much crazy painting's heart was left, it refused to let her kill him. But she couldn't have him trying to stop her, either. She had to do something.

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It had been easy enough to find an out of the way place in the Gallery where few ever went. Even easier to lure Garry there with her. A fake smile and cheerful manner were all she needed for that.

It was an excellent act, and one she would endeavor to perfect in the future: That of the innocent child who could never mean anyone ill will.

"Garry, I've been thinking… about what I said earlier… if it hadn't been Ib's rose I suggested, would you have listened, then?" She couldn't help but ask. It was her one hope, that she wouldn't have to do this, wouldn't have to lose him.

"Ib-no, Regrets. I don't want to hurt anybody." Of course he didn't. In spite of the world they were trapped in, he clung to his last remaining shreds of humanity as tightly as he could. At this point, the title stung more than the denial, because it felt more like a rejection.

At that moment, she let her insanity truly show for the first time. "That's a shame, brother. Because I plan on leaving, and saying goodbye always hurts."

She turned and left the room, vines springing up as she left. Those roses wouldn't bloom. They would last for a very long time. Long enough to put her plan into practice and be gone. Perhaps, if there were an extra rose, she could come get him.

Regrets didn't answer the others' questions when she returned to them. She didn't hide her madness anymore either. The one who acted as her moral compass was gone, and she could act freely.

Regrets used to be the Forgotten Portrait's little sister. Now, she was feared throughout the Gallery, and too mad to understand why it was a bad thing.

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Daichi: You remember the one notable exception thing? Yeah… That was Garry. Currently locked away in a place nobody on their way to the Fabricated World would ever visit.

Tsukaimon: So, naturally, the class is going to get very lost, or Ib is going to learn about this, right?

Daichi: Well done! You're finally learning!


	5. Splitting the Party

Daichi: And now, back to your regularly scheduled nightmares and drama.

Verity: We don't own this stuff.

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"I'm going to hazard a guess and say this isn't normal," Jade stated. Ib nodded.

"There's meant to be a puzzle here for us to solve, but with the door burned away… I guess we don't have to." She tried telling herself that it was a good thing. That it was one less place where she could lose people. She couldn't even convince herself.

"Well, what are we waiting for, then?" Trixie asked, skipping out into the next room. A few seconds later, there was a cry of pain from said room. Ib sighed and followed her.

"You know, you could try not walking directly next to the walls. That would save you a lot of trouble," David pointed out.

"Yeah, why didn't she figure that out first?" Hannah asked.

"Because it's Trixie and she's reckless," Chris shook his head. "Seriously, guys, this isn't anything new."

"Ib," Mr. Adams began, "Be honest. What are the chances of one or more of us dying here?"

"I don't know," She replied, dragging Trixie away from the room's one painting, which laughed and blew a raspberry at her. "I got out last time, but only just, and I-" She stopped, shaking her head. "I think I remember the passcode to the next door, which will help, since I'm not sure if the Liar's Room has a new truth-teller yet."

"The what?" Chris asked.

"Long story. Like just about everything here." She shrugged. "Now, Trixie, what did I tell you about wandering off?"

"Not to do it?"

"Exactly."

"Ib, you're not telling us everything. Just how bad is it?"

"I only just survived, what else is there to tell?" She snapped back. She couldn't think about it. If she let her thoughts turn to that, she didn't know if she'd be able to go on. "I'm the only person I know of that has already survived this place when it was out to get them, so there's not many options!"

"What about that didn't survive?" Lavender asked. Ib knew that her friend only asked out of curiosity, but she wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

"If they didn't survive, they clearly didn't know enough to get by," David scoffed. Ib had tried to put her more vengeful nature behind her since her first trip, but the urge to abandon him was rising. She reminded herself that he didn't know, and there was little reason to correct him.

"That is… a shocking lack of concern for human life," Lavender commented. "...Ib? Ib, keep yourself together, you aren't helping anyone if you stand there like that." Right. Survival. Helping them. That was what she was meant to be doing, wasn't it?"

"Follow me." Fortunately, her first guess at the passcode for the door was correct.

Nightmares had their uses, after all.

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Lavender wasn't sure what she should have been most concerned about. The being trapped in an art gallery that might be out to get them was pretty high up on the list, as was the fact that almost none of them knew what they were doing.

Ib possibly having a panic attack? Yeah, that was definitely up there. Fortunately, that didn't seem to be happening. Yet.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Ib called in to the room. "Lady in Red? Are you going to try and kill me again? Hello?"

"I'm starting to think she has issues," Jade commented. Hannah laughed.

"Starting to? Where have you been this past half hour?"

"Hannah, please…" Chris sighed. "I give up. I can't control her. Wait… where's Miguel?"

Okay, that. That was what she was most concerned about at the moment.

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Ib turned around. "We lost Miguel? Already? Okay, never mind the Lady in Red, we have to figure out where he got to. Good news is, if he dies, nobody outside of here will ever know," She tried to put on a calm face, but on the inside, she was panicking. They hadn't found any unused vases, Trixie was down to six petals, and Miguel was missing.

"What do you mean by that?" Mr. Adams asked.

"I mean that the Gallery affects our world, too. If someone dies and becomes part of the Gallery, the world is rewritten so that they never existed as humans to begin with," She shook her head. "I know that the Fabricated World exit, at least, can erase your memories without a particularly strong emotional trigger, so…" No, this could not be happening. She could not have lost someone this quickly.

"How do you know the first part?" Lavender questioned her. Ib pushed aside the memories.

"Does it really matter? Right now, what's most important is finding Miguel. Everything else can wait."

"If you say so…"

Jade looked thoughtful. "Hey, if you used the Fabricated World exit last time, what was your trigger?"

The lighter that she kept hidden, she wanted to reply, but bringing up its origin was something she didn't want to go into at the moment. So she simply didn't answer. The only question was where she'd search first.

"Trixie, you and I will search the Liar's Room for Miguel. Everyone else, stay put. Seriously, do not leave this spot until we come back."

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Of course, they never listened to her.

"Why did she take Trixie and nobody else?" David complained.

"I think it's because she doesn't trust her not to run off," Jade replied. "So she's stopping it before it can happen." That didn't stop them from continuing into the next room, of course. Why would it?

"We really shouldn't be doing this," Lavender pointed out. "She told us to stay put."

"She also seems to have a really low opinion of our ability to survive," Hannah retorted. "I'm not an idiot like Trixie, I can take care of myself." By this point, Mr. Adams seemed to have given up on controlling his class and was focusing mainly on surviving their shenanigans.

Probably a smart idea.

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"Now, Trixie, what I need you to do is stick close to me, do not listen to anybody else, and follow my instructions," Ib stated. "It's not that difficult a concept, is it?"

"Ib, I'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen?" And there it was. The worst thing that anyone could possibly ask.

"Why did you say that? Have you never taken any steps into the realm of fiction? If someone says that, the worst will happen!"

"But, Ib, that's just fiction," Trixie whined.

"Trixie, we are in a demented gallery that could very easily kill us. Realism? What realism?" She opened the door, to see the Liar's Room a burnt out husk. "Well. That's pleasant." There was also a gaping hole in the floor. "And that wasn't there before either."

"I don't know what went wrong," A new voice sounded. "Maybe the fire weakened the floor, before he fell? It wasn't that bad of a drop, either way. He'd only lose what, three petals, four out of nine? Small, compared to ten, or four out of five, right?" Ib turned to face the voice. Her mirror image, give or take six years, stood there.

"Ib, why are there two of you now?" Trixie asked. The painting just laughed, facing them with blank red eyes.

"Oh, there's a lot you don't know about this world yet, isn't there? Well, let me clear a few things up. Emotion brings art to life. So, if someone had enough of it… and enough artistic talent… they gain power over this world give it new life. Not that those that develop those powers gain any knowledge of it, not unless they make a portal or something, but… well, you had plenty of emotion to spare, didn't you, Ib?" She spat out the name of her creator like it was a curse.

"What do you want?" Ib asked, sparing a glance at the hole behind her. She certainly had the petals required to survive, though Trixie might not. Was it worth it?

"Well, for one thing, I want to fix a mistake that was made six years ago. That pretty red rose of yours… you remember, right?" Regrets flashed a disturbing smile at the girls, and Ib came to a quick conclusion that she would likely deride later as a stupid decision.

"Trixie, we're jumping down the hole."

"Wait, you're actually-?"

"I know encouraging you is only going to end badly, but seriously, we need to jump down that hole!" And without thinking for a second more, she did so.

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Daichi: So, Ib, Miguel, and Trixie have all fallen outside of the realm of canon, while everyone else is trying to go farther in…

Verity: This isn't going to end well at all, is it?

Daichi: To be fair, the premise kind of rules out a fully happy ending. The most anyone can hope for is that the cast doesn't wipe itself out.


	6. Little Groups

Verity: Well, let's all give Ib a warm welcome to the foundations of her new nightmares, shall we?

BlackGatomon: You take way too much sadistic pleasure in this, and this is coming from a Dark Digimon.

Daichi: ...If I owned this, I'd be able to hire saner help.

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Ib picked herself up, wincing at the pain in her leg. Her rose had five petals left. She would have laughed, were it not for the circumstances. Same as always. She noted that Trixie still had two petals left. Good. She needed a buffer. Still no vases in sight. That was bad.

Okay, she could work with this. "Trixie, I need you to look at your rose. Can you tell me how many petals there are on it?"

"Two…" Her voice was somewhat subdued. "Are you going to give me another lecture?"

"No, I'm pretty sure you don't actually learn from them at this point. I'm just going to hope that you have enough of a sense of self-preservation to get through this." She shook her head. "Just keep a look out for a vase filled with water, okay? That will heal one of us."

"Just one?"

"Unless it's an Eternal Blessing vase, but those are a bit less common. It's fine. I can handle myself with five petals." She'd done it before, after all. Survived pretty well, all things considered, up until… she shoved the last thought away, to a corner of her mind where it wouldn't bother her anymore. "Let's talk about something else for a bit, okay? If I'm not lecturing you, we might as well talk about something nice."

Trixie smiled at that. "You know, it's funny. We're in an art class, yet none of us knows any of the others' favorite colors. I like orange, if you couldn't already tell." That couldn't be what decided it, but Ib decided that the other girl had meant it as a joke. Still, she chose to answer.

"Well, besides red, of course, my favorite color is blue."

"Why blue?" The redhead asked. Ib decided to be honest, or as much as she could be, given her own issues.

"It… it makes me feel safe." And that was all she could say. Trixie seemed to sense that a line had been crossed, and fell silent. It was odd, Ib reflected, but it felt like she had made another friend.

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Lavender wasn't entirely sure where it had started going wrong. No, that was a lie, she knew exactly where it had begun. The trip, from the beginning, had had an air of ill omen about it, but she had ignored it, thinking it would just be the normal bullies. Then they had gotten pulled into this world.

First, Miguel had gone missing, followed by Ib and Trixie. The rest of the class had tried to make do, but Chris and Hannah had fallen through a hole in the floor, and David had gone missing soon after, so it was just her, Mr. Adams, and Jade. Not a winning combination, by any means.

"Close the door, close the door, close the door!" Jade shouted, and she slammed the door in the face of the Lady in Red. There was a click, and Lavender tried turning the knob again.

"She locked us in," She realized. "I hope there's a key here."

"There should be," Mr. Adams stated. "After all, the last rooms only had one key in them."

"Unless we missed one," Lavender finished. "But if we had to be trapped anywhere, this is as good a place as any. Maybe these books could tell us something." She was rather interested in the prospect of learning more about this strange new world. Ib had said she'd learned the rules in a book. Maybe the book was still there. She started taking books off of the shelf. "Probably not going to help us, irrelevant, definitely not going to help us…"

Mr. Adams picked up one of the books that she had discarded. "It's got a lot of information on sculpting techniques. I didn't even know some of this." Jade, meanwhile, pulled a small leather-bound book off of another shelf.

"It's a complete history of changes to the Gallery, self-updating," She breathed. "We can learn about the local artworks, when they came to the Gallery… it even says whether they're created paintings or former visitors."

Lavender turned in surprise. "I didn't think we'd find something like that. I just wanted the book Ib used, or an equivalent. Tell us if you find anything interesting."

And, as Lavender paged through a rather interesting volume on the magic behind feelings and art, and Mr. Adams flipped through his book, Jade piped up.

"Oh, this is interesting. You remember the painting Ib was crying over in the normal world? The Forgotten Portrait? It says here that he used to be a human visitor."

"Do you think she knew about it?" Lavender asked. Jade's eyes flickered down the page.

"I'd… I'd say so. No, she definitely knows. It makes more sense that she'd figure out about the Gallery erasing evidence of your existence from personal experience than a book, anyway."

"What are you talking about?" Mr. Adams asked.

"I'm saying that the Forgotten Portrait entered the Gallery less than a week after Ib's ninth birthday. What do you want to bet that the two of them came here at about the same time?" Jade laughed, but it sounded forced. "And now that we know the reason she was crying earlier… I reserve first shot at David and Hannah."

"I'm supposed to discourage you from that," Mr. Adams sighed, "But those two have been going too far for a long time. As long as you do it here, I'll look the other way." And that, Lavender decided, was as good as things could ever get.

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Every part of Miguel's body hurt. Opening his eyes, he glanced about for his rose. There it was, still with six perfect petals. All caused due to damage from the fall, he assumed. He wasn't sure where he was, because the last thing he remembered was the ground opening beneath him.

He looked up. No gaping hole. So something must have moved him to a different part of the Gallery. Ib was going to be mad at him. He'd only wanted to check out the fabled Liar's Room. How was he supposed to know the floor was too badly burnt to be structurally sound?

In hindsight, maybe ignoring the words of the only person who actually knew what she was doing was probably definitely a terrible idea. Well, he was paying for it now.

"The vase, where is the vase?" There was a voice nearby, and it sounded rather familiar. It should have.

It was his own.

"I know it's around here somewhere… she wouldn't have taken it, would she? No, it's not an Eternal Blessing, and it's as far from the route to the Fabricated World as it's possible to get…" The speaker was in Miguel's vision now, and looked rather similar to him, excusing the fact that he looked more like a doll than a human being.

Just the way he had been designed. Puppet Self faced Miguel, his face twisting into something like shock, not that you could tell with a doll's facial cues. "Oh, you're already awake. How are you feeling?"

"Like I jumped out of a window and was hit by a truck," He replied. "You aren't… going to attack me?" Puppet shook his head.

"Regrets would want me to, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her. I think you can help me, even without me taking your place."

"What are you talking about?" Miguel asked, and Puppet looked away.

"Let's just say… I need you to do me a favor."

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Daichi: In this scenario, Puppet's the wild card that could either make everything better, or completely ruin it. He might be a marionette, but really, at least here, he's the one pulling the strings.

Tsukaimon: I somehow knew you were going to say that, and it makes it even worse. Good news is, the groups that have managed to stay together have figured out how to get along. They need all the help they can get at this point.


	7. World of Hurt

Daichi: At this point, one should remember that going friendless for nine years, making a friend, having said friend die that same day, and going without friends for five to six more years cannot be good for you.

Verity: We just own a large number of characters. You'll notice them because they aren't in the game.

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Trixie wasn't sure what to make of this new side of Ib. Before today, she'd known the other girl as quiet, somebody who blended in to the background perfectly, never spoke unless spoken to, and let everyone else push her around. Quite a difference from what she saw today.

Today, for the first time, she had seen Ib stand up for herself. Actually the first time she'd seen Ib do anything but go along with whatever anyone else did. Certainly, she'd never taken the lead like this before. She'd have been forced from the position near immediately, without a backbone. It was quite impressive, actually.

Not that she'd known Ib all that well, all things considered. For all she knew, this new side of her could be the normal one. She doubted it, though. The other girl seemed too tense for it to be normal.

"Do you think we can find Miguel soon?" She asked the question, but wasn't paying as much attention as she should have been, too busy taking in the world around her.

"I certainly hope so," Ib replied. "I saw a few petals back there, so I'm pretty sure we're headed in the right direction… and we have to hurry, before the others wander off without us, assuming they haven't already, and that's probably not a valid assumption." Trixie certainly couldn't disagree with that statement.

The fact was, while Ib's clear determination could be somewhat intimidating… she also had to be physically there for it to really take effect. Trixie wouldn't be entirely surprised if the others were all long gone.

"We probably should find him, but… maybe we could rest for a bit? Everything hurts." She tried not to think about the various slashes on her legs, or what was sure to be a sizable bruise on her side. Honestly, she wouldn't be surprised if something was broken at this point.

"You're the one that ran down that hallway. You deal with the consequences," Ib responded, automatically. "I did give you fair warning. I swear, none of my friends hold any regard for their own lives..." This last bit was mumbled, as though Trixie wasn't meant to hear it. But she did.

It surprised her that the other girl was willing to consider her a friend. But that, also, was not an unwelcome change.

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Puppet did, eventually, find the vase that he was looking for. Supposedly. Miguel still wasn't entirely sure that the doll was trustworthy, but it wasn't like he had a choice in the matter. And Ib had, earlier, mentioned that they should look for vases.

Still, it was a surprise to him when placing his rose in the vase undid all earlier damage. Well, at least, the rose had all of its petals again. His leg was still a bit sore, but that might have been more from the force of the fall than any actual damage.

"That's better," The painting sighed in relief. "So, what have you decided?"

"What would you need me to do?" Miguel replied. He wasn't going to make a decision until he knew exactly what he was getting himself into.

Puppet turned to some odd shapes in the shadows. "You remember that room we found the other day, right? With the paintbrushes and empty canvasses? I need you to get some and bring them here, just to be sure it will work." There was a nod, and two dolls ran out of the shadows and in a specific direction.

"What are those?"

"They're my friends. Don't ask me where they came from, I have no idea. Some of my other friends might know, but they aren't telling me." And Miguel supposed that this was as good of an answer as he was bound to get.

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"I can't believe you actually came after us," Hannah sighed, helping David off of the ground. "That was a terrible idea, and you know it."

"And get stuck with the teacher, Jade, and someone who doesn't always talk? No way. I want to have fun while I'm here."

Chris groaned. "You think jumping through a hole in the ground is fun? I say it's painful. And we don't even know how to get back to the others, so our only hope is that they'll find us first. If they even want to."

"Why wouldn't they?" Hannah asked.

"Well, think for a moment. The only person in this whole deathtrap who knows what she's doing is the same person you've relentlessly tormented since elementary school. Now, would you honestly be surprised if she decided not to even bother?"

"She's not like that, though," David pointed out. But Chris had brought up a very valid point, and a few seeds of doubt had been sown with his words.

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Ib had been rather harsh with Trixie when she'd been asked if they could rest, and she was regretting this now. The fact was, she knew how painful claw marks could be, from harsh experience, especially those given no medical attention. There was a reason she would never be able to run cross country.

The fact was, no matter how many vases she used, the damage done to her right leg on her first visit was permanent, and still acted up at times. She didn't see it as that big of a deal, as it only caused her problems when she ran. Or like now, when she hadn't had time to check, but could swear that those old wounds had somehow reopened.

It wouldn't even surprise her all that much if they had, given where she was. But she couldn't stop now, couldn't rest, couldn't even check to make sure nothing that had been damaged couldn't be repaired. It wasn't like she could help if it did, anyway. Besides, it wasn't like the pain was anything new, and despite the years that had passed… nothing had really changed, had it? The names and faces might be different, but it was still Ib and a precious few allies against a world that wanted them dead.

"Hey, what's that?" Ib turned in the direction Trixie pointed, to see a door that almost blended in to the wall itself. "Do you think there's anything interesting there?" It likely wouldn't be required to go in there, but at the same time… Well, there weren't any nearby windows, and if there was anything there, they could just close the door.

"...I suppose it couldn't hurt," She finally stated, already wishing she hadn't, because to encourage Trixie was a mark of doom. But it really couldn't, or she at least told herself that, any more than blindly searching the main path could hurt.

Because if she didn't know where she was going, either way, did it really matter which path they took? She'd already lost Miguel's trail, and while she still hoped he'd turn up, he could be anywhere. There wasn't really a reason to choose one direction over another.

Ib tried to open the door. It wasn't even locked. She supposed that not every door could be. There certainly wasn't a shortage of places to hide keys in an art gallery, but it would also make getting around difficult. More difficult.

Honestly, she was mostly concerned with the fact that nothing had appeared and tried to kill them yet. At least that would be something she could anticipate, and deal with accordingly.

But the room had nothing in it, aside from empty frames. No scorch marks, which said something about the kind of foot traffic it normally got. It was just empty. Well, mostly.

"Lighter fluid? In an art gallery?" Trixie sounded incredulous, and Ib would be, too, if she weren't laughing in relief. Finally. Something she could use. She remembered the flicker of light that had, once, kept her nightmares away, and now, she finally felt like there was actually some hope left.

"This is… this is perfect," She stated, and Trixie was looking at her like she was crazy, and Ib realized that she very well may be, at least by the standards of the outside world. Well. Sanity was overrated, anyway. "We can do something, now."

"Ib, what are we supposed to do with lighter fluid?" And perhaps Trixie asking the normal, rational, reasonable questions should have been a warning sign that things were bad, but Ib had gone, in five minutes, from completely panicking to having some amount of hope, and she wasn't about to ruin that with logic.

"What does anyone do with lighter fluid?" Was her reply. "Sure, it could take some time before we need it, but… fire is a very potent weapon here. Trust me on that." She knew it. All too well. Being unable to get proper medical treatment had repercussions on more than just her ability to run. It had taken roughly a week for the burns to fade when she had tripped, and she was still surprised her parents had never asked how, exactly, her outfit had gotten so ruined.

She'd just written it off as them being unobservant, just like everyone else. But it didn't matter to her, she didn't care what people thought about her anymore.

At least, she kept telling herself that. And, perhaps, if she did, it might one day become reality.

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Daichi: The thing about Ib's injuries… well, the vases did heal her, but it was just as well as she could be healed at the moment, and not quite as well as if she'd gotten actual medical treatment.

Tsukaimon: I'm just surprised she can convince people she's normal.

Daichi: It helps that not very many people pay attention to her. And given the circumstances, I'd say she turned out relatively okay. Relatively being the operative term here.


	8. Her Memories

Verity: You remember what happened last time you split up a group of eight or more, right? You still haven't fixed it, and you've had years to. The only excuse is that fact that you're rewriting the earlier chapters of the story, and that continuing would bring up things that wouldn't make sense.

Daichi: I get it. But I have a system for this. I won't actually try to include everyone. Just the ones that are doing something important, and I'll try to focus on Ib when possible. Less hassle that way.

BlackGatomon: If they owned anything besides certain characters, they would have worked out a system long ago.

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"Seriously, though, Ib, how did you get a lighter? And why do you have it here, of all places?" Ib turned the object in question over in her hand, and thought about a way to properly answer Trixie.

"I… I'd hoped never to come back here. But, well, it's good to have, just in case." Misdirection. She was good at misdirection. She'd had to be, to pass off as someone with little to no personal issues. Sure, some things she could tell people, but most of the time, it was better to lie.

"That doesn't explain how you have it in the first place," Trixie pointed out. "And, until about five minutes ago, it was empty. Why would it even matter?"

Ib decided that one of the things she liked about Trixie was that she wasn't afraid to speak her mind. Of course, that didn't make the current line of questioning any more uncomfortable, what with the fact that it made her think on what had happened six years ago just for the sake of answering.

But… well… it wasn't like it was all bad memories. Her first taste of lemon candy had come about because of what happened six years ago, hadn't it? If, at least until she could change the subject, she focused mainly on the happier bits, perhaps she'd be able to keep herself together.

"I got it… from a friend." True, if the technicalities behind how exactly she'd come to possess it were left out. "It was here more for luck than anything." And, well, keeping her from having a panic attack, but she was dangerously close to it as it was. "As for why it'd be a good idea to bring a lighter to an art gallery, well, I'm not the person you should be asking that." She slipped the lighter- her lighter, she had to keep reminding herself, it was hers now - into her pocket, where she could access it more easily.

At least Trixie seemed to have stopped asking questions. For now. Ib knew she couldn't dodge the topic forever, but she'd take what time she could. Which would likely be until Trixie remembered that Ib supposedly hadn't had any friends before Lavender, but with any luck, she'd figure something out by then.

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Lavender wasn't sure how long they'd been locked in there. Not quite an hour, certainly. Nobody had found them, no one had even come for them, as far as she was aware. And she hoped that was the case. That they weren't looking, or were looking in all of the wrong places, rather than in the right places, and getting caught before they could reach safety.

Still, she heard the approach before either of the others had, the book Jade found in her hands. It did provide a good deal of information, but there was a lot left out. It told her the titles of pieces and when they had come to the Gallery. It said nothing else, not even in the case of the former visitors.

This, more than anything, didn't sit right with her. Those pieces, those people, had names. They'd had lives, before those were taken away. And the one thing that proved they had ever existed outside of this place was a small book that held none of that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by sounds, just outside of the room. "You know, with the Lady in Blue gone, this area's pretty quiet."

"Well, that's what you get for ticking off the wrong people. Now, let's see if they found the library. I mean, if she thinks it's a good hiding place, than they might, too."

Lavender turned to the others. "I can hear something. I think someone's coming, but I don't recognize the voices." Well, there was a small hint of familiarity, but to her, those two voices were something she didn't need to think on. Maybe later, in a less dangerous situation.

Still, when the door opened, she most definitely recognized the faces. She'd painted them herself, after all.

The yellow Faded Girl turned to the blue one. "Well, that was easy. I mean, I know Lavender wouldn't likely split off, but Ib didn't seem the wandering type, either, and she certainly isn't here. Now we just need to find her, and we'll have all the roses we need."

"But there's nine of them," The blue Faded Girl pointed out. "So couldn't we get a fifth? For… well…"

"Yeah, I guess, but Regrets will likely handle that on her own. You know how she'll is. She's just gonna show up at wherever she's keeping him with a red rose and one of another color in her hand and drag him along with us, whether he likes it or not." They seemed comfortable with what was happening, talking with each other instead of paying attention to the ones that, by all means, were their captives.

It was the blue one that spoke to them first. "So, well… I kind of hate to say this, but… you know those flowers you carry? We need them for something, so if you'd give them up nicely…"

"You know, someone who was here before told us how this works, and we got a note confirming it. Why would we listen?" Jade replied. "We don't even know who you are."

"The note! That's what we forgot about!" The yellow Faded Girl realized. "See, I told you we were forgetting something!"

"...As for who we are," The blue one finally stated, once it seemed her friend was done, "I believe at least one of you knows the answer to that." She levelled her gaze on Lavender, who resisted the urge to look away.

"You're the Faded Girls. The ones I painted." She didn't say it very loudly, just enough to be heard. That was all she needed to say.

"Our names. Tell them our names, Lav," the blue girl clarified.

"I… I don't know what you're talking about." She had been afraid before, but the hateful look that the girl wearing blue threw at her left her terrified. She shoved the girl aside, and bolted through the open door, noticing that the others were following her, and running as fast as she possibly could.

She didn't care where she ended up. Anywhere else would be better.

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"A friend, huh?" Trixie finally asked. Ib was almost relieved. Nothing was happening, there wasn't anything in the corridor they walked, and talking about anything, even that, was better than just nothing. "Given that it probably wasn't Lavender… who was it?"

"Nobody you know," she responded, quietly. "You wouldn't have met him." And, even if she did, she wouldn't remember. "I haven't really seen him in a while, either."

"What's he like?" Ib allowed herself a small, pained smile at this.

"My friend? He… well, my first impression was that he startles easily. He's not all that good at lying, either, although he can if he has to. He has a sweet tooth, and I first realized we'd become friends when he offered me candy. But more than that… he's just a good person. Even when things looked bleak… he'd always come through for me, in the end." Until he couldn't anymore.

Of course it figured that even the best memories she called up ended up depressing her. Just another sign of how bad things had gotten, she supposed. So long as her leg didn't get ripped apart down to the bone again, and her lungs weren't full of smoke, and she wasn't hallucinating, she could live with it.

Well, she hoped she wasn't hallucinating. She could never really be sure, but Trixie was reacting to all the same things she did. So, at least if she was hallucinating again, she was in good company.

So she continued through the realm of her nightmares.

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Daichi: As you can see, if the subject of Garry is brought up in a way that doesn't directly relate to what happened to him, Ib is more than willing to talk about it, as she remembers him fondly. It's just… good luck bringing up the subject without also welling up a lot of trauma.

Verity: Being the only person who even remembers that he used to be a real person probably doesn't help that.

Daichi: Probably not. Also, yes, what Gretchen suggested was exactly what Regrets planned to do with Garry.


	9. Special 2: Times Less Wonderful

Daichi: This one is basically how Ib got the way she did, including a more detailed account of what the Gallery did to mess her up. Some of the others show up, too.

BlackGatomon: We only own a handful of characters.

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A little girl with red eyes sighed and opened her lunchbox. A sandwich, an apple, and a juice box. Just like always. She didn't even like apples. But, of course, her parents thought she did, and she didn't have the heart to correct them.

"Hey, red-eyes!" The girl sighed and turned away from the boy.

"My name's Ib," she stated, before taking a bite out of her sandwich. The boy just laughed.

"Yeah, well that's a real nice name… perfect for a freak like you."

"Go away, David," Ib muttered. "I'm trying to eat." But she knew he wouldn't go away. If he decided to pick on her, he would, constantly until she snapped at him. Of course, she wasn't any good in a fight, and he was, so that wouldn't end well, either.

And, like always, it ended up happening. As always, Ib ended up with bruises and a lecture not to repeat the experience, and David's parents never even showed up. And, not for the first time, Ib wondered what it would be like to have friends.

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"It'll get better, Ib, if you just ignore them," Her mother spoke quietly, as she always did. Ib took after her in that regard, like most others. She nodded mutely, privately doubting it. When it had been just David, things had been fine. But then Hannah and Jade had come to their school. And things had just gotten worse.

"It never worked when there was just one of them," She stated, too quietly to hear. At least, she assumed her parents did not hear, but an eight-year-old was not infallible. Whether or not they heard, neither of them let on.

"Come on, cheer up," Her father started. "Your art teacher tells me you've been doing really well in her classes. So, after your birthday, how about we go to art gallery together or something?"

She nodded, because she didn't get out much, and even an art gallery would be more exciting than sitting around in her room all day. Perhaps a bit too exciting. That was where it all began.

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Ib considered herself decent at reading for someone her age. This meaning better than the redheaded girl whose name she could never remember, but not quite as good as several of her classmates. There were still several words she didn't yet know.

"Fab… Fabra… something World." She finally gave up on deciphering the first word. But as soon as she had, the lights went out. She turned in shock, and decided to go find her parents.

But she couldn't. Aside from herself, there were no living beings in the art gallery, although some of the pieces made a pretty good imitation of it, especially the cat. It wasn't for a lack of trying that she failed to find anyone, certainly. She couldn't even leave, because the doors just wouldn't open.

On her fifth or sixth search of the area, she noticed some writing on the wall.

" _ **Come below, Ib,"**_ She read. This brought up several questions, such as why random writing on the wall would know her name to begin with. But this was also her only clue as to what was happening to her.

Of course, given time, more messages appeared. _**Come and play, Ib. This way.**_ An invitation to play with another was something she'd been waiting for her whole life. And, possibly, that could lead to the unobtainable desire she knew as 'friendship'.

With that faint hope, Ib leapt out of the in-between, and walked out into the Gallery.

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Ib could feel a faint connection between herself and her rose immediately. Someone less observant than her might never have noticed, but you don't learn to tie together the shoelaces of your bullies, and multiple other revenge pranks, several times without being caught once without being able to notice the little things.

She didn't know what would happen if she plucked a petal from the beautiful flower, but she also felt that she didn't really want to know. She figured it out herself, however, when her own injuries caused a loss of petals.

Her first injury, by far, gave her the most physical pain out of everything in the Gallery, if only due to effects over time. She hadn't quite understood the warning she was given, until the hand came out and tore her leg open. If the fact that she could see down to the bone was any indication, it was pretty bad.

The initial attack had only removed one petal, but the others were rapidly browning. Fortunately for her, she managed to find a vase before she bled out. She hurried to the painting she had been pointed to, as quickly as she could.

Which, given her new bad leg, wasn't quite as quickly as before, but she could still move, so she kept going.

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Garry was… Ib wasn't sure what to think about Garry. He seemed nice enough, certainly, and was the only other normal person in this crazy world. For those reasons alone she couldn't help but trust him.

Her decision was affirmed in the way most children's are, with sugar. A piece of lemon candy, actually, that she put in her pocket to eat later, when the world wasn't out to get her and her new friend. Because she'd realized that's what he was to her. Her first friend.

It wasn't a sudden realization, rather, looking back, they always had been friends, ever since she handed him his rose with a smile and his hand had tightened around hers. Almost like it was meant to happen.

Had things been different, she would have liked to be able to call Mary her second friend. But life doesn't always work out that way.

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When her first visit to the Gallery had happened, she had been a child. She'd known about things like death, and pain, and grief, but her actual experience involving such had been limited. But some things couldn't be hidden away forever, and that was one of them.

"Garry? Come on, get up." She reached over and gently shook her friend's unmoving body. "We have to go now. Please, wake up." No response.

"Garry, you have to wake up. We're going to get macarons together, remember? You promised! You need to… you can't… you aren't sleeping, are you, Garry?" She couldn't deny it anymore. This trip had given her one good thing in that friendship, and the Gallery had ripped it away just as quickly.

Ib didn't know when she had started crying. But now that she had noticed it, she found that she couldn't stop. "This is… this is my fault, isn't it? Because I lost my rose, you… I'm so sorry, Garry." But there was still something she could do.

She took the lighter from Garry's pocket and stood up. "I'll… I can fix this. I'll make it better, just watch me." She tried to brush the tears out of her eyes, but they just wouldn't stop coming. She had something to do.

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She wondered how things could go so wrong. She'd managed to light the fire just fine, but she hadn't given much thought to what she would do after. She was regretting that now.

At first it had been just fine, and there wasn't much hurry, until she'd stopped to read Mary's diary, and everything had gone downhill from there, and fast. She hadn't even noticed the danger from the smoke until she was choking on it, and in her hurry to get out, she'd fallen against one of the burning walls.

No, things for Ib were just getting worse and worse, like they had been all day. She had to hurry to the painting that had pulled her into the in-between, and that would get her out of the Gallery. She didn't much care for anything beyond that point. Sure, she could hear things, but she wasn't entirely sure if they were actually there, or just her imagination.

Fumbling, she placed Garry's lighter into her pocket, while at the same time running from the uncontrollable inferno, despite her leg's protests. She ignored every sensation but her own instincts screaming at her to get away.

She hauled herself through the painting and gasped in fresh air in the normal world, with no idea why she was doing so, why her shoulder hurt so badly, or why looking at the artworks put a strange hollow feeling in her chest.

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It was when she got home that Ib began to put the pieces together. Her leg had hurt when she'd tried to run earlier, and peeling off her tattered and burned shirt, she saw that her skin had not fared any better. Her entire outfit, actually, was ruined beyond all repair.

But there was something in her pocket. Three somethings, actually, two of which had not been there before. She remembered the handkerchief well enough, and it seemed to have survived the ordeal unscathed. That was good. She didn't want to risk losing it.

The other two, she didn't recognize. She'd never had lemon candy before, and certainly didn't know why she wouldn't have eaten it right away. And the lighter… her parents would never let her anywhere near a fire starting tool, let alone allow her to carry one around everywhere.

Then, the memories hit her. And then she was crying again, and swearing off revenge forever, because all she'd managed to do was get herself burned for her trouble.

At least the candy was still good, even if it was outweighed by everything else.

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Ib couldn't remember the last time she'd had a good dream. Well, okay, she did. She had been eight. That was some time ago, now. There were far too many nightmares to deal with. Her leg injury, Garry's death, the blaze she had started but not stopped… They kept appearing, and there wasn't much of anything she could do about it.

The lighter helped, in a way, when she woke up from dreams that didn't involve the fire. The little flicker of light cast a warm glow over her hands and chased the shadows of her dreams away. It was the one comfort she could attain.

At least for a time. Eventually, that little light went out, and she was trapped in the darkness again. And very little about her situation had improved.

David and Hannah were no longer as harsh, and Jade had stopped messing with her entirely, although that might have had something to do with the end of the revenge pranks. Her burn had faded, but she still couldn't run without considerable pain- would never be able to again. So she stopped running.

And she felt more alone than she ever had before, because she now understood what it was like to have a friend, and missed it dearly every day.

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Even when the bullies weren't as harsh, Ib still had problems with them, no matter how many years went by. Which was why, when she'd turned thirteen, she was still coming home with bruises, David's parents still never showed up, and Hannah's had simply given up on her. Her own parents were now too busy to even try dealing with the problem, not that it had ever worked before.

But that was normal. Today, in an attempt to avoid them that didn't involve running, and, by extension, pain, she decided to take an alternate route home. Which worked great, until she got lost.

She could find her way home eventually, she always did, although she supposed she was to blame for not watching where she was going. Until she finally did find someplace she recognized, but hadn't been to in years. Most certainly hadn't wanted to.

She ran from the art gallery as fast as her legs could carry her, which was pretty fast, so long as she ignored the stabbing pain. She wasn't going anywhere near there ever again, not if she could help it.

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As it was, Ib had several things going for her, relentless tormentors notwithstanding. Her artistic skills had increased since her first ordeal so many years ago despite, or, perhaps because of, just how off-putting the art there had been, and the emotions attached to them.

Enough that the idea of an art class was highly appealing to her, even if her prior teachers thought that her apparent fixation with death, roses, and dead roses was somewhat unhealthy. She realized that they might have had a point, even if she couldn't say anything about it. The last time she'd tried that, her parents had had a talk with her about not letting her imagination get the best of her.

Still, if they thought it was an over-active imagination, well, she could certainly indulge that little misunderstanding. It was easier than trying to convince them that a painting had once been a person.

Her first day in the new art class, she encountered a girl she'd seen in the halls once or twice, but never spoken to. This wasn't that strange. Even now, Ib rarely spoke to anyone. But this girl… Ib could sense a kindred spirit from her, somehow. She couldn't say why it was. She just felt it.

Of course, her own thoughts were quick to remind her of what had happened the last time she'd felt someone was meant to be her friend. But she reminded herself that, fleeting though it was, that had been a real friendship, and that she'd like to have something, anything, like that again.

"You're Ib, right?" The other girl asked, just as quiet as her. "My name's Lavender. I guess we're in this class together."

"I suppose so," She replied. And the conversation continued from there, and soon enough she found herself with plans for after school for the first time ever. Everything was perfect.

And then the class trip was announced, and she hadn't managed to hide the permission slip. It was official. She was going back to the art gallery that started it all.

She didn't think she could have handled it even if it didn't include a Gallery trip.

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Daichi: So, it seems a lot of Ib's problems stem from loneliness. Well, the ones not created by trauma anyway.

Verity: You left her in the setting of her greatest nightmares with only Trixie for company. Somehow, I do not see that ending well.

Daichi: Again, the premise. There is literally no happy ending for everyone. I thought that was kind of obvious.


	10. Shattered Facade

Daichi: Now, to make everything come together in the worst way possible for certain characters… there's only one thing to do.

BlackGatomon: Have you committed?

Verity: ...We only own roughly a dozen characters. Possibly. We didn't count.

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"Vines? Here?" Trixie sounded incredulous, and Ib couldn't blame her. She'd only had her path blocked by vines… twice, maybe? She couldn't clearly remember the end of her first visit. Probably for the best, given what she did remember. She didn't need any more nightmares.

"I think whatever's behind them is something important," She brought her lighter out of her pocket. "It's too convenient, that a side area would be blocked off like this without a reason to keep people out."

"Ib, are you sure you aren't just paranoid?" Trixie asked. She found that she couldn't entirely deny it, either.

"It's completely justified paranoia." Her response came quickly, although she didn't know if that made it any better. It still couldn't be any good for her, arguably justifiable or not. Of course, it wasn't like she could do anything about it, so she shoved those doubts aside for the time being.

"You do know how to use that thing, right?" She nodded. She wasn't exactly sure how truthful that was, but at least she was thinking clearly this time, which probably meant something.

The flames consumed the vines. Just the vines. She wouldn't be suffering any more burns for this. The path in front of her seemed to stretch on forever, but… It was just a feeling, yet she knew, in some part of her mind, that she just had to go in. So she did, and Trixie followed.

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Jade had not signed on for this. All she had wanted to do was pass art, and maybe find a way to annoy her parents. That was it. She had not signed up for running through an art gallery that supposedly wanted her dead. In fact, she didn't know anybody who would sign up for it. No one she knew was that stupid.

Well, okay, she could think of a few people. None that she would willingly associate with, but they were out there.

Still, intentions aside, she was there now, and currently chasing Lavender down. She wondered what could have made the other girl break down like that, but given that the other option was staying with a couple of paintings who clearly wanted her dead, she'd just run.

She was sure Lavender would slow down eventually, and then things could go on from there. She could hear footsteps behind her, and assumed they were her teacher or the paintings, or possibly those freaky mannequins. It didn't matter. She had to keep going.

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"Ib, don't worry so much," Trixie laughed, skipping ahead for a bit, before doubling back. "Honestly, it's not that big of a deal. We just find a vase like you said, and we'll be fine, right?"

"Trixie, it doesn't work that way," Ib sighed. "Besides the fact that you could easily die long before we find any vases, let alone one with water in it, we'd still be in danger afterwards." She wasn't quite sure what she had done to deserve this, at least not recently.

Less recently, sure, she had a few ideas. But nothing within the past six months or so. And for quite some time before that, very little that was intentional. Yet, of all the people to be stuck with, it had to be the one person that would never take anything seriously enough.

Which, admittedly, was kind of her fault for bringing Trixie along in the first place, but Ib really didn't trust her not to do something stupid and would rather be around to help with damage control. Something told her that might be important. And even if it wasn't, it was good to be prepared.

She filed those thoughts away as an argument for her paranoia, if it ever came up again. She was pretty sure it would, at some point, though that might have been said paranoia talking. At least, she certainly hoped so.

"That's no reason to be so serious all the time. You got out fine last time, didn't you?" Again, Ib realized that Trixie never seemed to listen to a word she said. And she never did say anything detailed about last time, because… well, too many bad memories. Even the few good ones had been tainted by the knowledge of what happened next.

"...I did." Now, most people, when the one they're talking to becomes quieter than usual, would realize that they were dealing with a delicate subject, and tread lightly. However, Ib was always an unusually quiet person, and nobody ever said Trixie specialized in common sense.

"So what's the problem?" At this point, Ib wondered if Trixie was deliberately trying to upset her. It was certainly working. She realized that, if the conversation kept going, it would only make things worse. Like she didn't have enough problems to deal with already.

"Trixie, stop. Just… just stop." Her fists clenched, and she forced herself to breathe evenly. She'd thought she was mostly over this, but… Clearly, she had been mistaken.

"Um… are you okay? Because you're kinda scaring me, here." She wanted to tell Trixie that she was all right, except she knew nobody would ever believe that. She'd learned how to lie well in covering up her issues, but some things just couldn't be convincingly done.

And, well, what was the point of trying to make it better for someone, when chances were it'd all just be forgotten, anyway? She certainly didn't see it.

"I… stop it. I don't want to talk about it." The mask she'd carefully constructed to hide her problems was falling apart, and she didn't know what to do about it. "Leave me alone." Ib realized that saying that was a bad idea immediately after she did.

"You said I should stick close to you, and you're normally pretty clingy… you're really not okay, are you?" She came off as clingy to people? That was news to her. Something to work on, she supposed, if she ever got out of there. But that was a pretty big if.

"I'm… I don't know. I just… I just need some time, that's all." She knew that just sitting down in the middle of open space was probably not the best idea, but there didn't seem to be anything around that would harm her. She figured she'd be fine after a few minutes.

Ib wasn't sure how long she actually sat there, although Trixie took to pacing the room, when any hope of being able to reconstruct her mask during this trip was destroyed entirely. Because standing in the door opposite of how they'd entered was an old friend that she'd thought she'd never see again.

"G-Garry…?"

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Daichi: And we'll take a break here, as it was getting kinda long.

Verity:... You have seen the extra chapters, right? The ones that take up at least twice as many pages as normal? You're just doing this to mess with people.

Daichi: Maybe.

Verity: I didn't know you had an evil side to you. I thought that was me. Well, congrats on growing a spine, I guess.


	11. Red and Blue

Daichi: So… after yet another document was destroyed along with all the backups… let's give this a third try, shall we?

Verity: We only own the new characters. Nothing canonical. We also have way too much free time.

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In a place like the Gallery, what most people would call a bad day was normal. That was easily understood by anyone who'd ever stepped foot in the place, not that many ever made it out.

Even Garry's close relationship with his sister, back before she'd gone completely insane, and which had been considered by most to be a ray of light in a dark nightmare, had been tainted by memories of the original Ib, of promises made and broken, either because of circumstance or, in one instance, that he'd known he'd never be able to keep.

Well, hoped. There was one way he could keep that promise. If she ever ended up back there. So for him keeping his last promise to be an option, things would have had to go far downhill. Which they had, apparently, because she was now on the floor in front of him, along with a girl who had short red curls and a disheveled orange rose.

Garry was pretty sure, by Gallery standards, even, that this counted as a bad day. One in a series of them that had him convinced that this world was out to get him, irrespective of the fact that it technically already had. It wasn't enough to kill him, no, it just had to threaten the one reason his original existence still had meaning.

"Ib… It's been awhile, hasn't it?" She looked away from him, fiddling with her rose.

"It has. I… to be honest, I'm still not sure whether that's a good or a bad thing."

"How can you not be sure?" Ib's companion asked. "You said you knew what you were doing."

Ib sighed. "Yes, back when I actually knew what I was doing. Back when I was someplace I recognized, even if mainly from nightmares. Back when we had the entire group together, and I know there's no way they stayed where we left them." She looked at him, now, and he was reminded of how she used to be. A sweet little girl who took his hand and hung on to his every word.

"Before I showed up?" He suggested. She shook her head.

"...No, things have been falling apart for the past… hour or so? I'm not sure, everything looks the same around here. But… you… you're probably the only good thing that's ever happened to me here. I trust you." Maybe, in a way, she still was that little girl.

That would make things easier. Not necessarily easy, nothing could make it that… but doable.

"...I thought you said the paintings here would try to kill us," Ib's friend remarked.

"He wouldn't. He's different from the others. Garry… he'd never hurt me." She stood up now, wincing as she put pressure on her right leg, before shifting to the left. A small thing, that nobody would notice if they didn't already know about it. "Despite everything… it's good to see you again. I've missed you."

He could believe that. It didn't seem like she'd changed all that much, really. She was older, yes, but she still looked at him the same way she had when she was nine, even if it was now tinged with sadness.

It could never be quite like it was before. And, eventually, she'd have to leave again. But for now, this would be enough. "I missed you, too."

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It was difficult, Miguel soon realized, to draw a coherent picture when the picture kept moving. He wasn't sure why Puppet had insisted on such an experiment, but he was still alive, so he could only assume that it was a good thing. For now.

"...So that's what the creative spark looks like…" The painting handed a notebook off to two of the little blue dolls. "Take these back to our secret spot, okay?" The dolls nodded and ran off.

Miguel thought that the dolls were cute, albeit in an extremely creepy sort of way. Sort of like everything else here, if he thought about it hard enough.

"So, am I allowed to ask now?" Puppet shrugged.

"It doesn't really concern you. This project… even if everything goes perfectly, there's no way it'll be completed in a human lifetime." Which explained why his rose wasn't in any danger. It would be hard to complete a long-term project if it exceeded your natural lifespan.

"But what is it?" Puppet simply smiled, and Miguel realized that there wasn't going to be a real answer anytime soon.

"It's a secret."

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Ib was surprised, how easy it was to tell Garry everything that had been happening, even after all these years. He listened to her, which was more than she could say for just about anyone else, her classmates only having followed her initial instructions out of fear, and people in normal reality simply overlooking her.

She wasn't even sure Trixie had ever considered listening to her, and wasn't just sticking around for the sake of not being alone. It was hard to tell with her.

But Garry listened to her, and that was all that mattered. And maybe he listened to her a bit too well, or perhaps she was more shaken than she thought, because she found herself unable to stop talking after she'd started.

"-And then we jumped down here and my leg hurts again and I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to do that anymore but I don't really know because I never got it looked at and… I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"And yet," Trixie commented, "That's still the most I've ever heard from you at once… or that anyone has, for that matter." Which was true. Ib needed some prodding to get her point across, even if it was to Lavender.

Ib realized that she hadn't been a very good friend to anyone recently. She didn't talk that much to Lavender, was still fumbling with Trixie, and the less said about her ability to make simple eye contact with Garry, the better. This said a lot about her social skills- or the complete lack thereof.

"Sorry, I just… I can't. I might spend a lot of time alone, but that doesn't make it easy."

"Well, it's good you won't have to do this alone anymore, isn't it?" Garry asked. It took her a few seconds to realize what he meant by it.

"You'll… really help us?"

"If you want me to. I promised, didn't I?" He had. Many things, all years ago, and none of which she'd been prepared to hold him to, for reasons that started, and ended, with the fact that he'd died. But she also knew better than to turn down an offer for help. She always had wanted the chance to get to know him better.

It didn't stop her from understanding that he was too nice for his own good, of course, but there really was only one thing she could say.

"I...I'd like that. Our group… we were missing a blue, anyway." There were other things she'd wanted to say. Apologies, mostly, that probably weren't necessary but would make her feel better. But she hadn't been able to get them out while she was babbling, so it would be impossible after returning to her normal, quiet self.

And perhaps it was for the best that she didn't manage it, because it would force her to think about the eventual end to this adventure. How, after everything was over, she'd have to leave him again, in a world that was creepy or depressing at the best of times.

She wasn't quite sure that she'd be able to bring herself to say goodbye.

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Daichi: And we'll probably leave them alone for a bit, because they'll be mostly backtracking, anyways. Drama can be fun to read, but rather painful to write at times. Best to skip over the worst of it and come back when they're relevant to the plot again.


	12. Twisted Corners

Daichi: So, time to develop some other characters. This means, of course, drama, but less than if I continued following the main characters.

Vee-Vee: We own nothing canonical.

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"No." Hannah groaned.

"You didn't even let me say anything!"

"I didn't need to. That secret passage looks interesting, but you've seen as many horror movies as I have, and this is a place straight out of one." His sister sighed in defeat and Chris allowed himself to relax. Partly.

 _ **You're not going to explore?**_ Okay. Spontaneous writing on the walls. That was new.

"And now the place wants us to look at it," David sighed. "I don't really like it."

"None of us like it," Hannah shot back. "It's that we really don't have a choice. Unless you want to go back to that hall of moving mannequins and randomly collapsing ceiling bits. At least this spot won't hit us with plaster."

As if the Gallery had heard her comment, a piece of plaster fell from the ceiling. And then there was a knock on the door they had come in through.

"Hannah? Can you never say that again?" Given that the options were now run straight to the end of the hallway or ominous secret passage…

Secret passage it was.

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Lavender wasn't quite sure where she'd ended up. It looked rather different from the area she'd been in before, but some of that might have been the fact that there were markedly fewer scorch marks. That meant progress, right?

Not that she'd have any way to tell. Today had changed… well… everything. Some sort of magic existed, they had apparent proof of the soul, and Ib… she wasn't quite sure she ever had known Ib.

They'd just started being friends, of course, so she couldn't expect that much from her. And it wasn't like she would have believed her until something happened to prove it. But there still should have been a hint of… all this.

Or maybe she'd ignored the hints. If Ib looked thoughtful, or vaguely upset, Lavender had been willing to attribute it to the problems they shared, because two quiet people didn't make for the best conversation. But they'd managed, somehow, to make something that was good enough for the both of them.

Perhaps they needed higher standards. But Lavender realized that Ib had attempted to warn her, before it all started. Ever since the trip was announced, if she wasn't a nervous wreck she was asking about her navigation skills, her ability with puzzles, whether or not she could throw a proper punch.

And it wasn't like Lavender had told her everything, either. There were a lot of things she didn't know. Maybe something about herself, if what the Faded Girls had said was any indication. So, perhaps, they were both to blame. It was just that Ib's secrets had larger repercussions.

Lavender decided she'd make it up to Ib if she ever saw her again. But first she had to figure out where she was.

They. Jade had just come barrelling down the hallway, followed by their teacher. Better. She wouldn't have liked going it alone.

Anyone familiar was all she really needed.

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"You lost them?" Blank red eyes stared at Andy, and Gretchen tensed beside her. She couldn't blame her. Regrets was unnerving even at her most stable, possibly more because it meant she could properly focus.

A rather startling contrast from how sweet she used to be, back when they first met. When their group of four, later five, had banded together because they were friends. Now, there were three of them, four if you counted Puppet, though none of them knew just what he was doing lately, and they stuck with Regrets because they were terrified of what would happen if they refused.

"There were fifteen alternate routes within five minutes run of the library, discounting the ones that you absolutely have to be a resident to access," She pointed out, "And that's just the ones we know about. There's three specifically branched passageways, some of which reconnect, but that doesn't help if we can't figure out which ones they used."

"So we go downstairs, then." Her voice was strong, and Andy realized that something was very wrong there. "We track down Ib first. She's the most dangerous. She'll convince him to listen to her and everything will fall apart." There was no reason to clarify who 'him' was. Regrets didn't have many attachments.

Let alone ones that she would honestly be distressed about losing. Unpredictable though she might be, some things just didn't change. In fact, Andy theorized that it was Garry opposing her plan that caused her to completely snap, at least when it came to the point of being willing to light other paintings on fire. Otherwise, she might have been able to consistently retain some semblance of sanity.

"Are you sure about that?" Gretchen asked. "It's not like he'd do anything to actively hurt you."

"And how do you know that? You don't know anything about us!" Which was, of course, false. When they'd first met, Regrets could play herself as the mysterious girl who lived in an art gallery, but it had been years since then.

Not that they knew everything, either. Garry having once been human was obvious if you knew what to look for- knowledge of the outside world, an understanding of why Puppet's doll friends were sort of creepy, and a basic respect for human life- but they hadn't received much detail on that.

She felt that she didn't really want to know, anyway.

"Now, remember," Regrets said, falling back out of lucidity, "I get mad when I don't get what I want. You don't want to make me mad, do you?"

Andy wished she had taken her mother's advice and gone into knitting instead of paints. It might not have been as interesting, but it would also have been a lot saner.

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Hannah was convinced, at this point, that the world was out to get them. It wasn't like proof of that was hard to find, you just needed to look back a couple of hallways, but this was when it began to really sink in.

"Why are there knives on the ceiling? ...Actually, on second thought, I don't want to know," She decided. She also didn't want to walk beneath them purely because, if it followed the pattern, they would instantly fall and stab her in various places, mostly the head.

"I'm pretty sure there's a term for this," Chris noted. "I can't possibly think of what it is, though."

"Overkill?" David suggested. "So, do we just run through it, or-"

"Let's not," She interrupted him. "If it's all the same to you, I rather like living. And having a chance of going home. And not being stabbed."

"Not that going back would be much better," Chris sighed. "I'm pretty sure that the only reason nothing's caught us yet is because you blockaded the last door."

"It was a good idea."

"I'm not saying it wasn't. I'm saying we don't seem to have a choice."

David groaned. "So we're choosing between getting stabbed and being rushed by a swarm of enemies? This is not how I wanted to spend my morning."

"Is it still morning?"

"Who cares?" On the other hand… between the two options, Hannah had to admit that the knives would likely be quicker.

"Wait, we're actually running for it?" Chris asked. "How? This is the longest area we've seen yet!"

"Run fast," David stated. "And maybe all together. I think there's a few scattered safe spots." Which didn't make things much better, but considering the alternative…

"So, we just run? That simple?"

"Well, they'll probably fall once we pass underneath them… so, one at a time?" David suggested.

"...Just for that, you can go first."

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Daichi: Don't worry, they'll be fine. A few cuts in places, but nothing that can't be fixed.

Verity: ...To be fair, there's not much that can happen to you there there that can't be fixed with proper application of vases.

Daichi: Exactly.


	13. Stillness

Daichi: So, it seems that a break from the worst of the drama was just what I needed! Time to get back to work!

Verity: Have you done anything? At all?

Daichi: Internet things… I'm like Tsukaimon. Easily distracted with shiny objects and cat pictures.

BlackGatomon: The reason she only owns select characters, summed up in two sentences. Well done.

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Ib wanted to say that she enjoyed the quiet. For the most part, it was even true. There was just something nice about being left alone with your own thoughts… most of the time, anyway.

Walking down a corridor with two of the few people she honestly cared about beyond basic human decency was really not the time for silence. But, of course, proper conversation topics for this kind of situation really didn't exist, let alone those that didn't basically tap dance all over her personal issues. Trixie did enough of that by accident.

Not that she was doing so at the moment. It was that impossible to start talking. All three of them knew that to do so was to walk right into a minefield. So getting to the end, and back to the door that had been blocked earlier, was a definite relief.

Just outside the door, a pair of familiar blue dolls ran past. "What are those?" Trixie asked. Ib had a different question in mind.

"They're still around?" Okay, so she hadn't seen any of them around the fire area- at least she didn't think so, her memory was still more than a little foggy on that point- but she'd still put them out of mind as not a potential problem.

Garry shrugged. "They were hiding for a bit, but they… showed up again a few years back. We don't… I don't talk to them." He seemed distinctly uncomfortable by this, but then, he'd never liked the dolls.

"Right." Still not a proper conversation, by any means, but it was certainly a start.

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Miguel thought that he was beginning to get used to Puppet, even if, brought to life, he looked a bit creepy, not even counting the dolls that followed him around. Perhaps that was a bad sign, that a living being with buttons for eyes no longer freaked him out, but he wasn't certain. The whole day had been bizarre.

The two of them, along with a number of dolls, were currently in a room with a desk covered in papers, as well as several other stacks. "I borrowed this room from some other paintings," Puppet explained. "It was meant to be temporary, but…"

Given the scorch marks around the Gallery, Miguel had a pretty good idea as to what happened to the previous occupants of that room. So he decided against asking further. The painting seemed not to mean him any harm, but there was no reason to provoke him.

Two more little blue dolls ran into the room, jumping at Puppet in what seemed to be an attempt to get his attention. "What is it?"

Miguel couldn't read their energetic motions, but Puppet could, it seemed, although one of them had thought to grab a pen at one point and scribble onto a page. Suddenly, it made sense why there would be so many papers.

Miguel's creation took the written on paper, folded it, and placed it on the corner of the desk. "That… this changes things."

"What does?" He didn't like the feeling of being left out of the loop. Not when it was his own life being played with, at least some of the time.

"It's not safe for me to keep you here. I didn't see other options at the time, but… given the circumstances, there weren't any proper guides around, let alone any with a chance of being spared."

"That doesn't help."

Puppet sighed. "Of course not. I'm not very good at explaining things. But… you activated the Fabricated World, right? It's a fairly large portal, tends to grab people at the worst possible moment… you'll have at least seen the Forgotten Portrait, then."

That he had. And there had been a fuss about that… from Ib, who'd known the truth of the Gallery. "He's not from here, is he?"

"No, he's not. His real name's Garry, and he's… probably the sanest one here, which is… concerning. He disappeared some time back, but apparently he's shown up again."

"And what does that have to do with anything?" He already realized this was going to end with him kicked out of the room. But if Puppet was going to ramble, he might as well get some information out of him.

"If you stay here, people, human or otherwise, will eventually track you down, and I prefer to keep my work private. You can trust him. He's already picked up two of your classmates… Ib and orange, I believe."

Orange. Miguel thought for a moment, to try and figure out who that could be referring to, before realizing it was probably Trixie. Her rose had been orange, and it was sometimes hard to tell just what color her hair was.

How Puppet's doll friends had known the name of one, but not the other, he didn't think about. After all, Ib was the experienced one. It only made sense.

Which was better than the rest of the world.

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"So, what have we learned today?" Chris sighed, watching Hannah try to reattach her severed left sleeve before giving up and turning it into a bandage.

"Don't play with knives," The other two responded. The three of them were cut in several different places, though none of them had been hit anywhere too vital. The bloodsoaked outfits were likely beyond saving, though, even if they weren't partially shredded.

That Chris could even think through the pain was something he was grateful for, to an extent. None of them looked at their roses. They all knew, even without having to spare a second glance.

One petal left. One more chance to survive. They'd been lucky.

Luckier still that they ran into an Eternal Blessing in the next five minutes, and none of their pursuers seemed to be catching up. So, yes, that was a definite improvement.

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Daichi: No, they didn't only learn not to play with knives. That's just the thing that stands out the most, along with 'don't alienate the only person who knows what they're doing'.


	14. The Slightest Hope

Daichi: The solution to writing scenes where the characters' thoughts are… complicated… is simple. Just use the point of view of another character in the scene. It loses some of the impact, but in this case, it's a small price to pay.

Verity: We own certain characters. That is all.

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Trixie could tell that something wasn't right. Not with the situation- there would never be anything right about this situation- but with the others in it. Or, rather, in their interactions, or complete lack thereof.

It was clear from the way she'd introduced him that Ib and Garry had once been close. Even easier to see that they both still wanted to be. And while things weren't that simple… generally speaking, people didn't declare implicit trust before proceeding to not talk to the person, or even make eye contact.

It was true that things in the Gallery were different, but she couldn't see that as being something that changed. Trust just didn't work that way.

"So, how did you two meet?" She asked. It had to be an interesting story, how a young girl and a painting could grow to be good friends, to the point of apparently missing each other, and Trixie wanted to know.

They both flinched. Right, touchy subject. She'd keep that in mind.

"Sorry, you don't have to answer if you don't want to… it's just-"

"N-no, it's fine," Ib stated. Trixie was half-certain she was lying, of course, but this probably wasn't the place for an argument. "It's not that exciting, really… we just- well, I was wandering along, found him in the middle of… of a disagreement with the Lady in Blue, I sided with him, and we somehow decided we liked each other."

That did sound about right. Most likely the truth, and given the immediate reaction, probably not worth prying into any further. Just really, really tempting.

No. No, she was going to at least try and exercise self-control on this one. It would not do for her to alienate her one hope of survival.

Would be nice to deal with less silence, though.

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The world was starting to feel familiar. Lavender wasn't sure how, or why. But something in the air had shifted, as though her thoughts had been shrouded in fog before and the key to lifting it entirely was just beyond her reach.

Not that this was a good thing. With all the traps she had inadvertently sprung, it became increasingly clear that this place was out to get her, and likely everyone else. If there was something she should realize about the Gallery, she was certain that she did not want to know.

It would have been easier, perhaps, if the place had a map. But, no, that would be helpful, wouldn't it? A place that seemed specifically designed to drive others insane… no wonder everything here was hostile.

"You know, it wouldn't surprise me if we were going the wrong way all this time," Jade pointed out to their teacher. "Are you sure this is a good path?"

"Do either of you have any better ideas?" The girls fell silent. "I thought so. We haven't seen anything in a while beyond normal traps, so we should be fine if we just keep moving."

Lavender wanted to point out the problems with that logic, except that the only real option was to keep trying and find a way out. Only one person that she knew of had escaped the Gallery, and she wasn't there at the moment.

It would have been easier, perhaps, if she couldn't hear whispering sounds from the walls, that nobody else seemed to react to. But they didn't seem to be saying anything in particular, so they were probably just her imagination.

And if she was imagining them, she didn't have to pay any attention… right?

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"This doll will guide you," Puppet told Miguel, handing one of the creepy-cute blue things to him. Miguel took the doll and it crawled up his arm to sit on his shoulder. "They like me, but keep her away from Garry. He doesn't like them very much, Regrets was the same back when she was stable. Ib doesn't have much reason to care for them, of course, and Orange… if she has to stick around, show her to Orange, she's likely to react best."

"I've got it." Honestly, he didn't know why Puppet worried so much. He certainly wasn't like that.

"Good. And don't tell them about this office, I'm pretty sure only the others not knowing about my research is what's keeping it going. The walls have ears, you know. Sometimes literally, be careful about that."

Right. That was why. This place was insane, and Miguel was glad that he'd soon be near someone who could get them out of there.

"Okay, I will. Thanks. I guess I'll be going, now."

It was almost comical just how quickly he was shoved out the door, which closed softly behind him and was locked with an even softer click.

He even felt that, in a better world, he could possibly have actually found it funny.

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Ib was certain, at this point, that the only thing keeping today away from the spot of worst day of her life was the fact that there were still no confirmed deaths. At least not of anyone she cared about. It was fairly easy to see that there had been deaths in the Gallery, if not that recently.

Callous? Maybe a little. But she was the first to admit that maybe there was a little something wrong with her, even if it was no longer as bad as outright hallucinations.

Well, she was pretty sure she wasn't hallucinating. She wasn't going to outright dismiss the possibility until everything was over and done with, whenever that happened… however that happened.

"Are you sure they're this way?" Miguel's voice. Beside her, Trixie drew herself up. Ib stopped her with a hand before she could say anything.

"Don't. Do you want every artwork in the area coming down on us?" She hissed.

"But there's nothing here!"

"You never know! Anything and anyone could be out to get us here!"

"What about me?" Garry asked, jokingly.

"Of course not. You can't kill me without the past six years being completely wasted, and you know I wouldn't forgive you if you did anything to my classmates…. well, most of them." Ib decided to stop talking before she started entertaining the idea of human sacrifices.

She found her fingers were now clutching the lighter in her pocket just as much as her rose. Probably not a good sign, but she'd never dealt with good signs.

There was the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps from the direction they were continuing in, before Miguel stumbled out of the shadows, his rose in hand and fully pristine. Which was a sign of hope for a vase, but for all she knew, it could have been good for just one use. Knowing her luck, it probably was.

"There you are!" The boy grinned, showing no reaction to the fact that the trio had someone in it that he'd never talked to. "I was starting to worry you'd forgot about me!"

"You're the one that wandered off," Trixie pointed out. Ib wanted to say something herself, but all of her resolve seemed to have slipped away.

That was normal, though.

"Don't worry, it won't happen again, promise!" And there. Something she could respond to.

"Don't make promises that you can't keep. I hate it when people do that." She didn't have to look at Garry to notice him flinch.

If she were stronger, more sure of herself, just a little bit less scared, she would have told him that she forgave him a long time ago. Six- almost seven, really, her birthday was in just under two months- years was plenty, for someone who was easily the best friend she'd ever had.

But there were others there, and she'd never been much for words in the first place. So it had to go unsaid, and if the hand in her pocket gripped the lighter just that much harder, nobody would ever notice.

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Daichi: Ah, the perils of the main character being an introvert. On the bright side, she's started to figure out how to move on! That's good, right?

Verity: It's happening at the worst possible time, of course.

Daichi: When else would it happen?

Verity: ...You scare me.


End file.
